


O Say Can You See?

by Shuriken7



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, War of 1812
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuriken7/pseuds/Shuriken7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On March 3, 1931 America announced his official national anthem, his very own song. England really wished that he had chosen a different one, he didn't want to have to think of that time every time it played...<br/>Author's Notes: Written for the "Yesterday" prompt in the USxUK anthology put on by the usxuk community on LiveJournal. Thank you to the artist who drew that beautiful picture for my entry! Also thank you mods for organizing such a massive and amazing body of work. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Say Can You See?

**London, England, UK ~ March 3, 1931 ~ Nation Meeting**  
England thought his heart had stopped when he heard the words coming from America's tongue. He could ignore it before, pretend the tune was still just "To Anacreon in Heaven" whenever it was played. Simply a silly song written by a London teenager. The irony that it was written in the years before America left wasn't lost on him. The song made his stomach twist even more than it already was every time he was in a room lately with America. That once lighthearted melody was now weighed down with the responsibility of America's national anthem.

He tried to ignore America's singing, but the words came through, bringing back memories he certainly didn't need in this moment. When America finished, the others stood up to congratulate him. It was no small thing to have a national anthem. 

"What is the song about, America?" England overheard Italy ask innocently. England looked up to see how the other would respond.

"It's about me and Eng..." America had looked at him and their eyes met, and the words hung in the air. When everyone started turning to look at him curiously he decided it was time to leave. England stood up from his chair and headed out of the room. He knew every move he made was documented, and he hesitated for a moment in the doorway. He caught America watching him out of the corner of his eye and a jolt went through him. He felt that America's gaze was burning into him even when there was a wall between him and the rest.

He needed a cup of tea to calm his nerves. The motions allowed his mind to go blank for a few moments. The motions were comfortable, soothing. Boil the water, prepare the pot, pour water, steep the leaves, pour into the tea cup. England carefully arranged some biscuits on the tray before carrying it out to the balcony. He tried to lose himself in the view of the London skyline, in the steam rising from the cup. He distracted himself by lamenting how weak the brew needed to be due to the economy. Suddenly, the flash of the sunlight off the windshield of a motor car sent him into memories he was trying not to recall. The light took him back more than a century ago, where an American lawyer had penned a poem that had just become America's national anthem.

_O say can you see by the dawn's early light  
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?_

**Outside Baltimore Harbor ~ September 13, 1814 ~ Battle of Baltimore**

England stared at the mouth of the harbor, considering how he could get around the obstacles that America had placed in the harbor. He turned when the ship's commander cleared his throat. England hoped the shock didn't register on his face. America was onboard his ship, unrestrained, seemingly of his own will. He was with humans from the city the British vessels were about to besiege. They were here to discuss the return of several prisoners. Blood pounded in England's ears as his eyes met America's. The sound of his heart almost drowned the sounds of the commander telling the Americans that their request would be considered... tomorrow.

America broke eye contact with him, his eyes wide in surprise, before narrowing in suspicion and frustration. The Americans were told they could not leave, and if they interfered they would be detained. None of the Americans, especially their nation, looked happy about that command.

America walked towards the rail and looked out across the water to the small fort. England looked in the same direction, catching sight of the American battle flag flying above the ramparts. It flapped in the wind defiantly. For a brief, terrifying moment England thought that America would jump over the side to get back to his men. England's feet carried him over to and he almost grabbed America's arm. He hesitated.

"Don't worry I'm not going to." His blue eyes remained locked on the flag, and England just stood by and looked at him.

_Whose broad stripes and bright stars through perilous fight  
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming,_

England hadn't seen him since the treaty that ended their last war when it didn't involve staring down a musket barrel at each other. America had gotten taller and his lanky teenage body had filled out. His blond hair still fell across his forehead in the same way, that errant piece of hair still sticking up. England's fingers itched to smooth it down. He wanted America to look at him and smile, but that was impossible. America was as rigid as the Star Fort's walls.

England turned away, embarrassed he was having such thoughts. America watched him go, but England didn't catch the glance. He wandered around the ship. He listened to the men preparing for battle. Then the first cannon fired, followed by dozens and dozens more.

The cannons created a cacophony of sound until England's ears were numbed to the noise. He made careful laps around the ship as darkness fell, doing his best to avoid America. Once, in the flash of light of a rocket, he saw America's hunched shoulders and the way his fingers dug into the wood. Eventually, he could find no further reason to stay away. He came to stand beside him. 

America's gaze was fixed on Baltimore harbor, eyes straining to see if the fort had surrendered. It had been hours, England didn't have the heart to tell him there was little hope. Sentences swirled through his mind, but none of them reached his lips. He bit his lip and reached out, placing a hand tentatively on America's shoulder. 

America reacted almost immediately, jerking his body away from England's touch. Anger flashed through England's body. Before he realized what he was doing he had grabbed America roughly by the upper arm. He dragged him away from the flashes of rockets and mortars blasting away at Baltimore harbor.

America struggled against his grip, but England had the weight of his empire behind him to combat America's natural strength. He shoved him through the door of the captain's quarters, barring the door behind them. America kept his back to him, staring pointedly at the wooden panels that flickered in the lamp light. Flashes of guns beyond the window highlighted his silhouette. 

America sighed, "What are you doing, England?"

England gave an exasperated sigh in return, " I am merely here to defend my interests, pirates that attack my ships use this city as a base. And in case you've forgotten America, it was you, who attacked my territory first." It was a line he repeated over and over. He was beginning to wonder if they were really true. 

America turned towards him and scowled, "It's not like I wanted Matt all caught up in this! It's your fault!"

"My fault?!" England shouted, an angry flush creeping up his neck, "You decide and try to steal from me while I'm busy keeping France from getting his fingers all over Europe!"

"And while you're fighting France, you suddenly decide it's okay to kidnap my people?"

"Once an Englishman, always an Englishman!" 

America flushed red with anger, a flash illuminating his face, "And what does that mean for me England, huh!?"

England flushed as well, unsure of what to say.

_And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air  
Gave proof through the night, that our flag was still there,_

England considered for a moment. What did he mean when he said those words? His navy had needed men for the war, that was a practicality. Many had left for opportunities in the United States of America, many more had family there. England knew that feeling all too well. He realized he should have stayed across the Atlantic, let his general take care of this minor tussle with America. By the time he had even arrived America had given up on Canada. He had left the north to focus on the British troops arriving from across the sea.

America stood there waiting, his brow furrowed, his cheeks still red. England looked into America's eyes and saw the same defiance that he had seen only a few decades ago. America was as determined now as he had been then, but England saw something else. Behind all the bravado, defiance, and ideal, America was afraid. England's eyes widened. Who was America afraid of? Him? Once an Englishman, always an Englishman... 

"You think that I..." he began. _You think that I am trying to conquer you and take you back_. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he opened his mouth to deny it. For another time that night, no words came. He couldn't say that he would be adverse to such a conclusion, even if America would be incredibly ornery inside his house. But at least he'd be by his side again...

America's eyes searched England's own, then a flash blinded them both. By the time the light had cleared America's face had paled. He brushed past England, and practically took the door off its hinges. He disappeared into the night sky. England just stared at his silhouette caught against the smoke and intermittent light. America's words wouldn't leave him. He slammed the loose door shut and sank against the deck. He ran his fingers through his hair. 

"America..." he whispered, hoping that somehow saying his name would clear the cloud of emotion that threatened to choke him. His mind journeyed through memories, his heart remembering times when things were better between them. His mind's eye fixated on America's young face, the first time he looked at him, that day America had reached out for him. He continued to whisper his name, over and over. It didn't help, even when he said America's name so many times his mouth had gone dry. He looked over his shoulder, leaning up to peer through the keyhole. America still stood where he had last seen him, watching and waiting for a glimpse of American colors still flying above Fort McHenry. England could only watch briefly before the memories made him sick once again. 

He returned to his mantra of saying America's name, not daring to think what America might be thinking about. He let the sound of the guns lull him into a stupor until they had become more and more intermittent. Finally, they were silent. The silence that followed was eerie. England uncoiled his stiff limbs and pulled the door open. He walked into the dawn. The first thing he saw made his heart constrict.

_O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave,  
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?_

The massive American flag unfurled above the tiny fort. The American fort had withstood 25 hours of bombardment and survived. America always survived whatever England threw at him. America didn't need him anymore. This war told him that he didn't want him anymore either.

That knowledge made his heart feel like it burst into a million pieces...

**London, England, UK ~ March 3, 1931 ~ Nation Meeting, England's apartment**

England leaned against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, letting the memories fade. The flashes disappeared to the back of his mind and the present came back. Reality came back to him, just the way that giant flag had appeared out of the mist. He lifted his wrist to peek at his watch. It was still far too early to drink with any dignity. He sighed and ignored the sounds of knocking on his door.

The knocks turned into pounds, "C'mon England, open the door!" America called.

England told himself that it was only out of concern for his hinges that he answered.

"Yes, America?" he asked. Even though he did not give the younger nation an invitation, America brushed past him into the apartment. He immediately settled into the extra chair at the tea table and started in on the biscuits. England made his way back to the table, trying not to look at him.

"You left when Italy asked about my song. I think it's great I finally have an anthem." He looked at England with a slight tilt to his head. England tried to ignore the charming way America's hair fell across his forehead. He pushed the thought away. He had been having far too many thoughts like that since America waltzed noisily back into his life, accompanied by desperately needed supplies and soldiers 14 years ago. 

"How observant of you." America tilted his head further, trying to catch England's eyes. England kept his eyes fixed on the skyline. 

"England... I'm going to say some things."

"Well, thank you for the warning." England replied sarcastically.

America sighed, "C'mon, I thought we were friends now."

England flushed slightly, America treated the friendship so casually. When America had appeared all smiles, blathering something about a rescue, England's heart had stopped. That moment would be seared in his memory forever. When he looked back on those years, he was still shocked how close they were again. So much had changed... "I... I suppose we are friends, America."

"Then why can't you be happy for me? Everyone else is."

"I'm trying." He jumped when America reached across the table to poke his cheek. He looked at him in surprise and America grinned.

"Keep at it, I want you to be happy for me."

England felt the corner of his mouth curve up in a small smile. He couldn't really promise much, but... "I will try."


End file.
